


Insecurities

by Quakey (Quak3y)



Category: Cable and Deadpool
Genre: Body Horror (from Wade's POV), Body Worship (from Nate's POV), M/M, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-13
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2020-01-12 13:28:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18447515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quak3y/pseuds/Quakey
Summary: Prompt: I wanna kiss you in places you’re insecure about





	Insecurities

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Vicky_Strife](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vicky_Strife/gifts).



How does Nate get to him like this? Get inside his defenses, get inside his _head_ even without telepathy, get him to let Nate _do_ things?

Not even particularly dirty things. It’s easier actually, safer, when it’s just sex, hard and fast and nasty. Like when Nate pushes him against a wall, fingers digging into his thighs to hold him up, the suit still firmly in place except for the top of the pants dragged down around his hips and the mask pushed up to the bridge of his nose. It’s about sex, about Nate hot and hard in him, breathing heavily next to his ear. Or half-dressed and bent over the nearest relatively sturdy surface, not having to worry about anything except his hand on his own cock, stripping it in counterpoint to the pounding Nate’s giving his ass. It’s about pleasure, about getting off, about both of them finishing and pulling a few clothes back on and walking away happy.

But this? This is about something else.

Because when Nate gets him in an actual bed with actual sheets and no chance of gunfire or explosions or time traveling clones to ruin the experience he likes to savor it.

No, not ‘it.’ Wade. He likes to savor _Wade_.

The bastard won’t even turn off the lights. Or if Wade manages to lure him into bed with the lights off, he _turns them back on_ telekinetically.

Just thinking about it makes Wade grumpy, and he gives the hair under one hand a petulant yank. The other is fisted in the sheets, because he needs something to ground him, needs to curl his fingers tighter, twist his fist, feel it start to get almost _painful_ so he doesn’t have to think so hard about Nate’s mouth. Nate’s hands. Nate’s _eyes_.

Because when Nate pushes him down and pulls off his suit a piece at a time, it doesn’t matter where he starts, whether it’s a glove or the mask or the pants, he always greets each inch of revealed, scarred skin with that mouth and those hands. Kisses and strokes as he peels Wade out of the suit like peeling fruit. Like one of those OCD motherfuckers who likes to get an orange peel off in one long strip just to prove they can. Wade thinks Nate likes to do it this way just to prove he can too, that he can keep Wade from freaking out and saying ‘no!’ because he can’t quite bring himself to voice it when it all feels so _good_.

Right now Nate’s tracing the line of muscle under one pec with his tongue and lips, right where it’s the most sensitive, tracing the ridges of scar tissue, lighting up every nerve he touches. He’s supporting himself on one elbow and the other hand is tracing feather-light across abs and chest, stroking all the little places that he _knows_ , damn him, make Wade’s breath catch a little, makes him twist his fingers tighter and tighter in the sheets, make him jerk on Nate’s hair and curse.

He doesn’t want to open his eyes, keeps them clenched shut. Better just to feel what Nate’s doing. This way he can pretend they’re in the dark, just shadows moving blindly against each other. He doesn’t have to think about the fact that Nate can see what he’s touching.

Nate chuckles as he starts moving lower, leaving a trail of warm kisses down the center of Wade’s chest, nosing at his navel, kissing below it where any _normal_ human guy has a treasure trail, unless he’s a vain, waxing mofo, but no, Nate’s gotta look at ugly, hairless, scarred–

No, not thinking about it, not thinking about it.

Nate distracts him for a moment from these thoughts when he hooks his fingers in the top of Wade’s pants and pulls down, working them under his ass as his mouth follows the line of muscle down his abs, down to the join of leg and hip, and it feels so fucking good, Nate’s fingers squeezing his ass so hard he’s sure he’s bruising and mouth so light it’s barely more than a tease. It’s so good, it’s too much, everything lit up and alive.

But the worst is when …

“I like looking at you,” Nate says, right against his leg. He can feel the brush of lips, the movement of air, can _feel_ the words. Does Nate think that if he can feel it, it’ll make him believe it?

“Don’t say that!” he manages, far less steadily than he’d like, yanking to try to get Nate’s head on his cock. It’s hard and throbbing, embarrassment be damned, it knows what it wants, smearing wet across Nate’s shoulder.

He’s ignored, lips tracing down the inside of a thigh as pants are pushed down and off. It’s like a ritual and Wade lets go with a shaky breath so Nate can get on with it, works his way down one leg, kissing thigh and knee and calf all the way down to the ankle as a gentle touch moves across the bottom of his foot to pet and caress, makes him squirm. Then thumbs rub deep circles of sensation into his arches as Nate starts back up the other side. He makes it all the way to the other knee, splaying Wade open for him, before he bothers to respond.

“I’ll say it all I want, because it’s true.”

Wade risks a glance, down past his own (scarred) cock twitching over his stomach, down to where Nate is watching his face with eyes intent and focused, a little smirk on his lips.

And then Nate runs his hands up the inside of Wade’s thighs, fingers ghosting lightly over lumps, thumbs digging hard into just the right sweet spots, and Wade yells wordlessly, twisting against Nate’s hands.

“Nate, please, stop with the touching, either suck me off or fuck me or I’m gonna blow anyway, _please_ –”

Thank the Asgardian gods or whoever should be thanked for amazing sex, Nate finally listens and crawls up far enough to get his lips around Wade’s cock. And then it’s a whole new kind of torture, because Nate can give a blowjob fast and sloppy and dirty with the best of them. Now it’s just _good_. Good enough Wade let’s go of the sheets to grab his hair with both hands. So good Wade can’t even think anymore, can’t feel embarrassed anymore, can only _feel_.

Nate slows the rhythm, pulls him back from the edge just as those fingers come back again, touching again, _oh man_ are they touching again, and where the hell did the lube come from?! Damn fanfic writers and their convenience thing with Nate’s telekinesis and the lube.

Wade falls apart the first time with Nate’s mouth on him and Nate’s fingers in him.

He falls apart the second time with Nate’s cock in his ass, and he’s so far gone that he has his eyes open and doesn’t even care that Nate’s looking down at him like _that_ , because he has other things on his mind. He can look at Nate instead, he can touch Nate back instead, run his fingers over muscle and techno-organic metal, dig his fingers in and listen to Nate’s breath catch, hitch his legs further around and grind back against Nate and watch him lose it bit by bit.

He finally comes all over his stomach, gasping and twitching and going limp as Nate’s eyes widen, as he watches white stripe across Wade’s stomach and then buries himself to the root with a groan.

When he's done, Nate flops to the side, not on top thankfully, because he’s really damn heavy. Not even post-orgasm haziness stops Nate’s hands from pulling him close, still touching, holding on like he means it. It doesn’t stop Nate’s lips on his, and he feels those lips curving into a smile.

Nate’s eyes drift shut and _finally_ the lights go off.

“You’re a bastard,” Wade mutters. He should be relieved to be unseen again in the warm darkness, and he is, but he’s also just a tiny bit sad about it, and confused by the emotion. “Just once, can’t we do it with the lights _off?_ ”

“Scott would disagree,” Nate says, sounding amused. “And no. Because then you’d believe yourself, that you’re not worth seeing. You are.”

There’s no response he can make, not without his voice cracking in the middle of a joke to give him away. He lets Nate’s big hand on the back of his neck pull him closer, thumb stroking gentle circles over his skin. Skin he knows Nate has seen, knows Nate can picture in his mind even now in the dark. There’s a strange comfort to that, to be hidden and known at the same time. To know Nate says he’s okay with it.

Maybe he can be okay with it too.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy (belated) birthday, Vic!
> 
> (And in case anyone's interested, the image of wall sex that I have in mind is very much this one (very nsfw): <http://pardone423.tumblr.com/post/59055666138/new-costume-ver-p>.)


End file.
